


Summer heat

by pineneedlepants



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Full Shift Werewolves, Heat Stroke, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Liam is a Bad Friend, M/M, Magical Healing Rituals, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Near Death, Scott is a Bad Friend, Sheriff Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Takes Care Of Derek Hale, Vague Mentions of Past Suicidal Ideations, Wolfsbane Poisoning, because I always hurt Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineneedlepants/pseuds/pineneedlepants
Summary: Derek's lazy summer day ends in a wolfsbane poisoning and a heat stroke.Only half of that is Scott's fault.--





	Summer heat

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a friend of mine who's a huge fan of Scott. I haven't had the heart to tell them that I actually don't, uh, share their views, at all, so I needed to vent this way. So this fic is not for Scott fans, I don't think.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Not beta read.

Derek sighs, sweat dripping down his forehead as he lays on his couch. He’s watching Stiles play Assassin’s Creed on his playstation, the man so focused on his game almost everything else falls away. He certainly hasn’t been aware of Derek’s here and there commentary, too zoned in to notice. 

There’s sweat dripping down Stiles’ torso too, his tank top similarly sticking to his skin as Derek’s is, and they’re both entirely too hot to touch each other. Stiles tends to get cranky when the heat rises up to unbearable levels in the Californian summer, and nothing will prevent his temper from rising, unless there are promises of cold baths or beach trips or the AC in their bedroom. But there are so few things that would keep Stiles entertained in the bedroom without it involving any physical activity, that they simply cannot stay there longer than the hours they manage to catch any sleep. Stiles would go insane with boredom.

Derek stretches, feeling the saltwater slide down his back, making him wince. ‘’I’m gonna go for a run,’’ he says, reaching to brush away the wet strands of hair on Stiles’ forehead. 

The human blinks, turning his head against the gentle touch. ‘’Huh?’’

‘’I said,’’ Derek repeats, amused, ‘’That I’m gonna go for a run.’’

Stiles hums, refocusing on his game. ‘’The preserve?’’ 

‘’Mm-hm,’’ Derek agrees. He drops his hand away. ‘’It’s cooler.’’

‘’Anywhere is cooler than here,’’ Stiles grumbles, blowing a raspberry when he gets killed. The game reloads. ‘’You gonna be long?’’

‘’I’ll run the perimeter,’’ he promises the human. ‘’Won’t take longer than an hour and a half, tops.’’

‘’M’kay,’’ Stiles says, leaning towards him, offering his cheek. Derek huffs, but obliges, giving the man a quick peck. Stiles pauses the game long enough to catch his lips into a kiss, entirely unbothered by the sweat that drips down their faces. 

‘’Stay safe,’’ the man says against his mouth, gazing into Derek’s eyes. 

‘’Yeah,’’ Derek nods, brushing boths hands through Stiles’ damp hair, pushing it gently against his scalp. ‘’You need to drink. Make Siri remind you every thirty minutes to drink something, okay? I know you’ll be too hyper focused to realize the time otherwise.’’

Stiles makes a face but reaches for his phone from between his legs, putting on alarms every half an hour. ‘’Happy?’’

‘’Very,’’ Derek says, pulling the man’s head against his sternum and kissing his forehead.

Stiles allows this, his flush cheeks warm against Derek’s lips. “I’m the sheriff, you know,” Stiles grumbles without heat. “I won’t accidentally dehydrate myself while you’re gone.”

Amused, Derek says against Stiles’ skin, “I know. I’ll be back.’’ He lets go and puts his phone on the coffee table, along with his keys, and strips down. Stiles gives him a smack on his naked bottom, earning a glare for his actions. Then, before the human can make any lewd comments, he shifts into his wolf form, giving a canine huff.

The change is instantaneous. He feels cooler, better, when the fur takes place on his skin, the wolf equipped to handle the humid air much better than his human counterpart. His tongue lolls out with a pant, and Stiles gives him one more good rub on his ear which he leans into. 

‘’Get outta here, you fuzz butt,’’ Stiles grins, reaching under his tank top to a necklace, showing the clear blue ball pendant. ‘’I’ve got you backed up. We can make dinner when you come back. I’m craving some grilled steaks and salad.’’

Derek snorts. He does a lick up Stiles’ wrist before he turns, claws clacking against the linoleum floor when he moves to the back door. Stiles gives a last wave of goodbye before he starts his game anew, and Derek gets out and disappears into the thick woods.

  
  
  
  
  


The forest air is calming and quiet, the sun shining brightly through the tall tree tops. Derek lets himself fall into an easy trot, cautious of the heat. As he predicted, the shadowed preserve is a lot fresher compared to the house, the ground cool against his paws. The familiar path around his territory is as undisturbed as it always is, no hikers daring to go as deep. 

He leaves his claw marks on carefully designated trees, reapplying his scent, making it known to any other non-human that the preserve and the town below it is protected. Stiles’ wards hum reassuringly below of Derek’s marks, the stones well placed into the gnarly roots of the trees, hidden behind tall grass.

It takes him forty five minutes and a small hunting detour to reach the small lake that resides in the middle of his path, just inches outside his territory. A hoard of small nymphs live in the freshwater. Derek walks to the edge of it, pushing his snout into the water, making the surface ripple. Then he gives a quiet, reverberating howl, asking for the humanoids to come greet him.

He sits on his haunches, waiting for the company to arrive. It doesn’t take long. Small, blue and green heads pop up, the nymphs the size of Derek’s hand, their eyes as black as the dark bottom of the lake. Flashing his eyes at them, Derek drops to the ground, gently nudging one of the smaller nymphs, ones Derek thinks are perhaps children, but his knowledge of the water creatures is rather scant, so he isn’t entirely certain. 

The tiny creature makes a critting sound, grabbing Derek’s nose and peering up at him with its huge onyx eyes. Derek nudges it again, making it shimmer with happiness. Another two dozen tiny humanoids start crawling up to the ground. They’re critting and croaking, shimmying in excitement. 

With a huff, he extracts the tiny hands from his nose and turns back, going to pick up the huge buck he’d hunted for them. He drags it forward, warm blood gushing into his mouth where he grips its neck, and dumps the dead animal into the lake.

The nymphs cheer, opening their mouths full of needle sharp teeth, diving in to feast. The buck disappears under the surface of the water fairly quickly, the humanoids following the bloody trail to the bottom. Derek settles on washing his snout from blood, curling down to wait for the nymphs to come back. 

The sun shines warmly against the ground, inches from the shadowed spot Derek lolls on, the heat shimmering in the air. The wind keeps him cool, his wet fur blessedly cold. 

The water ripples again, this time in larger waves. Anticipating the queen, Derek stands up, his head not exactly bowed, not wanting to submit to her, but not presenting a threat either.

The queen is bigger than her followers, her form the size of a six year old human child, though she looks otherwise the same. Older, with deeper knowledge in her eyes, but showcasing similar curiosity as her tiny pod.

Wuffing a low greeting, Derek flashes his eyes at her. She blinks, her void black eyes gazing disturbingly deep into his, and she nods. Her voice, when she starts speaking, is much like the critters the smaller nymphs make, but with a distinct rounding for human vowels. 

Derek strains his ears to hear her message, deciphering the meaning of each garbled word, until he understands. One of her informants had gone further outside the territory of Derek’s, finding an old cabin with a hum of magic hanging in the air, despite no traces of anyone living there have been imprinted in the nature. The queen worries that, when the winter comes and they need to travel further off their lake to find food, if they stumble upon any magical traps, she might lose more pod members to it, than just the solid number of older nymphs dying of cold.

Derek cocks his head in understanding. Her pod is much smaller than her fellow nymphs, her lake overfished and slowly shrinking. He doesn’t want her family to die unnecessarily, so he promises to look into it.

The queen gifts him with a bubble of water. He takes it in his mouth, unsurprised to not feel it break, and keeps it gently between his teeth. She thanks him for the buck, and for the help, and pacts her pod in his help, should he ever need it.

One of the tiny nymphs come to show him the way, and while he walks around the lake, the humanoid swims alongside him. Derek swallows the bubble, letting it rest in his tummy. He’s not sure what it’s for, but he trusts her. It might come in handy later on if there truly are magical traps near the lake in the pod’s hunting grounds.

Once they reach the end of the lake, Derek offers his back for the nymph, who gratefully grips at the thick strands of Derek’s fur, pointing him to the right direction. 

It’s less than a ten minute walk for Derek, with his long strides, though he knows that for the tiny water creatures, the same distance takes thrice the time. He’s surprised that the nymphs would need to go this far just to find enough food. He hadn’t known their situation was that dire. He’ll have to discuss with Stiles about it, and come to some sort of trade deal with the nymph queen to help them survive. 

He feels a tug, and stops. The small creature climbs down, staying behind one of Derek’s legs, pointing towards a darker, shaded spot in the distance. Derek follows the nymph’s gaze and squints, making out the shape of a cabin between the shadowed trees. 

The humanoid critters, making odd hand gestures. A warning. A sealed ring of faith? A hunter trap? Ahh, sharp metal claws. 

Derek nods hesitantly. He thinks he got the gist of it. The cabin might have belonged to a deer hunter and the area surrounding the house is ringed with bear traps, and the nymph wants him to go in slowly. Derek wuffs in confirmation, accepting the bow from the creature, and watches it start crawling away, back to the lake. 

Derek makes sure the nymph is able to move without help, since the heat is starting to get awfully unbearable, even in shade, and the longer the nymph is out of the water, the chances of it surviving are dwindling. 

Once satisfied the creature isn’t going to die trekking back to the lake, Derek starts strolling into the unknown. Somehow the cool air chills him to his spine the closer he gets to the cabin, the shadows longer and almost looming. The animals and insects grow more and more silent, heartbeats skittering away from Derek, from the ring of the clearing.

Derek hasn’t seen any bear traps, or seen any other hunter tools, making him wary. He catalogs the cabin’s appearance when he gets five feet from its front porch, the wood dilapidating, rotten through. The roof has caved in, windows shattered once the structure of the house had collapsed under the weight and destruction, walls only half standing. 

He snuffles closer to it, trying to catch a scent that would give any indication as to why the nymphs are wary, and why have some of their pod members disappeared here, when it happens.

He touches the front porch, stepping on a small mushroom that has its family surrounding the house, when he catches the whiff of wolfsbane and mugwort, making his fur stand up and then the cabin is suddenly gone. He lets out a wheeze when his whole body feels like it has been flung through the air, his frame colliding against something concrete, and then lets out a howling scream when his paws and his back and his neck are suddenly,  _ painfully  _ burrowed into. He thrashes, trying to get away from the blinding pain that’s engulfing his whole body, frantically searching for his surroundings for his attacker. He bows his whole frame, yowling and biting the air, attempting to rid the creatures clamping their teeth into his body.

Once he gives a good twist, bending his neck further up to shake the things off, he comes face to face with a dead nymph. It makes him still his movements, despite the agonizing pain. He blinks dumbly, panting for air, staring at the vacant, half rotten eyes.

The nymph has been bitten in half by the metal claws of a bear trap, the metal smelling of combination of wolfsbane and blood and rotting fish.

Slowly, carefully, he looks down to his own body. Instead of an invisible attacker, similar sharp metal claws are trapping his limbs, making him bleed red and black, the mouths clamping tighter against his frame the more he struggles. 

He forces himself to stay in place despite the growing panic, and takes deeps breaths. He fears that once he lifts his head to take a look at his surroundings, he’ll find more dead bodies of supernatural creatures littering his orbit, because it certainly  _ smells  _ so, now that he’s calm enough to concentrate on it. The smell is overpowering all of his senses, the rot and heat and death seeping into everything around the clearing.

He’s sure that he isn’t even in Beacon Hills anymore. The forest surrounding him smells different, and sounds different. Even outside his territory, the preserve smells like the wolves it belongs to. The magic is more contained, anchored to the wildlife and the pack holding dominance over the forest, unlike the untamed shimmering power Derek now feels rumbling underneath the earth’s surface. 

He tries shifting back to his human form, deciding to try unclamping the traps from his limbs with his human hands, when he realizes that he can’t. He’s entirely trapped, unable to move into any direction unless he wants more of the surrounding empty bear traps to trigger against him. A familiar burn of wolfsbane around his neck and the sharp teeth of the traps tearing into his flesh cues him to an answer as to why the shift is forced to stay back. It isn’t just regular aconite either. The acrid after smell and the fierce burn against his skin points to Northern Monkshood, a strain that the hunters use when they aim to kill immediately and efficiently. If it reaches his whole heart, blackening the organ from the inside, it’ll kill him within six hours.

The thought gives him enough strength to let loose a desperate howl, long and loud and far reaching. He pants, the monkshood forcing his heart to beat faster as the poison spreads in his veins to his whole body, and he hopes fiercely, with everything in him, that Stiles will find him fast enough before his body gives out.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Derek resurfaces into awareness. He feels something cool and soothing stroke the bond between him and Stiles, and knows that the man is sending him comfort amidst his panic, reassuring him that backup is coming. He’s not alone.

Derek shudders, hot and cold all over. The ground beneath him is slick with blood and black gunk, his body desperately trying to extract the poison from his system. It isn’t working for his favor, and he knows his heart has already been tainted with it. If he intends to stay alive, he’ll need Stiles to guide the poison out from the open wounds, and replace the missing blood with a new batch. 

The sun has changed angles, creating longer shadows, so it’s possible Derek has been out of count for an hour, maybe two. It lessens his chances of survival the longer he’s missing, since he has no idea how long the way to home is, and if he’ll make it there for the blood transfer. He lets out a small, pained whine, wishing he didn’t have to bear all of this in stifling solitude.

Twitching his ears towards north, he hears someone rustle through the thick undergrowth of the bushes and grass. It perks him up a little, though he’s wary. It might be the witches who owned the abandoned cabin, or maybe a hunter, or a predator. He strains himself to listen to the footsteps. They’re not light and fast as a deer’s, nor silent and sneaky as a fox’s. They’re heavy and distinctly human. As they get closer, he hears the murmur of a conversation, unable to make out any words, but knows for certain it’s Scott and Liam.

_ ‘’Derek!’’  _ Scott bellows, his name echoed by the younger wolf.

Derek howls in an answer, not very audibly, but he keeps it up for as long as his lungs hold air.

It doesn’t take long before Scott and Liam tumble through the bushes, pulling themselves to an abrupt stop when they see the clearing filled with traps.

‘’Crap,’’ Scott says, taking stock of Derek laying in the middle of it all. ‘’This is gonna take forever to get there.’’

‘’Dunno,’’ Liam says, shrugging, ‘’We could just take a stick and trigger all of the traps closed when we walk up there, so we won’t get hit.’’

‘’Oh, hey yeah! That’s a pretty good idea!’’

Suddenly weary that his rescuers are those two, Derek offers a sigh. Then he winces, the metal claws stuck in his side clamping tighter shut.

‘’Stay put right there, Derek,’’ Scott hollers from the side. ‘’We’re getting to you. Uh, slowly but surely.’’

 

It takes them twenty minutes to get to Derek, and by then, both of the wolves are sweaty and frustrated. ‘’Oh my god, this is such a nightmare,’’ Liam pants, wiping sweat off his brow. ‘’How did you even get into the middle without triggering every other trap with you?’’

Instead of answering, Derek gurgles black goo from his mouth, almost gagging in it. Scott makes a face, taking a step back. ‘’Oh, that , ugh, that never stops being gross. Try not to, like, choke on it, okay? Stiles would definitely kill me if you did. Also, dude, we can’t move you to another position with these traps still in you.’’

Rasping for air, he gives a feeble nod. He just wants out of the scorching heat, wants the metal out of his body and wants to drink  _ so damn badly _ he nearly vibrates with the need. He can smell the water bottles Scott has in his backpack, his mouth salivating with anticipation. He hopes Scott will offer him something to drink soon. And then the younger wolf should definitely phone Stiles, so that his boyfriend can come and help him get rid of the poison in his system.

Liam winces at the state Derek’s in. His fur has started to shed from the parts of his skin where the claws are burrowing into the injured skin. It looks inflamed and infected, pus seeping out of the cracked corners where the black isn’t dominating. ‘’Oh, fuck. Scott. These are aconate infused. We can’t pry them open, I don’t think.’’

Scott crouches down after pushing a couple triggered snares away and scrutinizes the wounds, sniffing at the steel. He nods. ‘’I can get through an ash ring, but wolfsbane used directly as a poison is as deadly to me as it is to you. Maybe, uh, we should carry him to the car as he is, and just drive straight to Stiles so he can take care of them?’’

_ No _ , Derek thinks, _ It’s a very, very bad idea. _ He needs to have Stiles  _ here _ , to get the right kind of aconite and burn the ashes and heal him before he can move his body. Trying to carry him with the traps still in him would do more harm than good, even if they’d manage to get to Stiles faster that way. Derek weakly bares his teeth at them, terrified of the pain that would follow should the two of them implement their plan. The steel would undoubtedly clamp in tighter, forcing his healing to slow down even more. The one in his neck might even manage to do some serious damage to him if it burrows into his spine or bends it in a wrong direction with its weight. 

The two wolves don’t sense his panic nor his reluctance, because they nod decisively. 

‘’I think that might work,’’ Liam agrees, stepping closer to Derek’s lain form. ‘’The faster we get to Stiles, the better right? I mean, aconite is super bad for him, right?’’

‘’Uh huh,’’ Scott says. ‘’Though wolfsbane like this, just scratching skin, isn’t as dangerous as getting shot with an aconite bullet, so he’s not actually in danger yet. I think, when Derek was shot around the time we first met him, he’d been with the bullet in his arm for like, almost twelve hours. There was a tape of it, Kate shooting him somewhere at three AM, so the poison is probably slow in ingesting in his system. It’ll kill him within twenty four hours if we’d leave it in him, but as we’re only two hours away from Beacon Hills, we still have lots of time before he needs Stiles to burn the ashes into him.’’

‘’He smells pretty awful though. Like death?’’ Liam hesitates, concern wafting off of him. Derek wants to scream at them to stop dicking around and just to _ call Stiles, _ that he has now less than four hours left, probably, and he needs to have his boyfriend here to get the traps off of him and to get Stiles’ magic to purify his bloodstream from the wolfsbane. His chest is already aching, his body desperately trying to defend itself, purging the herb out, but it’s working too fast. The injury in his neck and his back are the worst off, closest to his heart. He tries wiggling, snapping his teeth where Liam’s arm is hovering over his head, to make them realize what a monumentally horrible idea moving him without supporting the traps too is, but it isn’t working. The two of them are ignoring his sluggish movements, clearly not sensing his distress.

‘’I think the death smell is from the rotting bodies around us,’’ Scott mutters. ‘’Just try holding your breath for awhile, or breathe through your mouth. We’ll put the AC on full blast when we get to the car, so any lingering smells should disappear.’’

Liam shrugs. ‘’ ‘kay,’’ he agrees. ‘’How do we want to do this?’’

Scott pokes and prods at Derek’s body, trying to discern the width of the metal mouth. ‘’I think, if I grab his head and shoulders, and you take on his flank, then we should be able to get him relatively unharmed to the trunk. Those traps look pretty heavy though, and they might spring even closer when we lift him, so we need to be kinda fast.’’

Scott moves to Derek’s head hands worming under his unresponsive body, getting Liam situated and ready to grab his flank, and says, ‘’On three. Ready?’’

‘’Ready!’’ Liam says.

Nodding, Scott says, ‘’One. Two.  _ Three _ !’’

Derek  _ howls _ . The pain sears into all fronts into his nervous system, the heavy steel traps hanging from his body, ripping skin and fur and muscle off as gravity takes its hold. There is no place in his weakened frame that isn’t ignited in furious burns, the force of his sudden agony so fierce it almost makes him pass out. 

God, it _ hurts. _

Desperate, he tries wriggling from the hands of the two wolves, get back to the ground where he could just  _ breathe  _ for a moment, wanting to scream and cry and rage at the two of them, but he knows it’s futile. The strong hands keep him in place, tentative step by step, irritation wafting from both of them as Derek swings and wavers. He gasps and whines and  _ screams  _ low in his throat until it feels sore and swollen and thick.

‘’Stop  _ moving _ ,’’ Scott grits out, exasperated and annoyed, tightening his grip. ‘’I know it hurts, but dude, you’re a werewolf. You can withstand this much. You’ve had worse things happen to you, so this should be a walk in the park. Just. Stay still, okay? We need to get you into the car.’’

Each step and falter makes him lose his breath, the times when the two wolves heave him up to slot better into their arms makes the trap that’s snapped into his hind leg feel like it’s about to crack in two by the force of it. Mercifully, as Liam tumbles, making him drop Derek’s flank and igniting the flames on his rear even stronger, he vomits, and then falls into blissful unconsciousness.

  
  
  


He comes to, when the door of the trunk is slammed shut, stuffed into the stifling heat of the back of the car. The air is stuffy and thick, making it hard for him to draw a proper breath. He tries to focus on his hearing and breathing, forcing the throbbing pain of his body into the back of his mind as well as he can. Scott was right, this isn’t the worst he’s been. But it certainly does feel so, after years of quiet and peace and just  _ living _ , not a single human or a creature having hurt him or his pack. He’d almost forgotten how terrifying and grueling it is to have his body be under such agonizing pain with absolutely no relief in sight.

‘’Are you gonna call Stiles now?’’ Liam asks, as two other doors slam shut and the two wolves seat themselves in the front. 

‘’Probably should,’’ Scott says, and Derek hears him shift his weight as he fishes his phone out. There are a couple taps on the phone’s screen, and the device is dialling. Scott turns the car on at the same time, leaving it idle, but switching the air conditioner to blast cool air into the front and back.

_ ‘’Did you find him?’’  _ Stiles’ voice demands after a moment, relief filling Derek’s entire being as he hears the comforting weight of his partner’s concern.

‘’Yeah,’’ Scott confirms. ‘’We did. Two hours outside the preserve, into the Beacon Heights’ unclaimed territory.’’

_ ‘’Is he alright?’’ _

‘’Uuuhh,’’ Scott falters, and he must look back to the trunk where Derek lays, though Derek can’t see him do it. There’s a few second silence, in which Derek can hear his own breathing, how his lungs rattle and his throat gurgles and his heart beats frantically, trying to keep up with the strain.  ‘’Not so good, I don’t think. There are these weird, rusty bear traps locked all over his shifted form. There was some wolfsbane substance painted on them, so me an’ Liam couldn’t get them off of him. He’ll probably need you to do your magic mojo thingy.’’

_ ‘’Fuck _ ,’’ Stiles curses, frustrated. Concerned. _ ‘’Okay. Okay. I’ll - I’ll start driving to meet you up in the middle. I’ll drop Kira off as soon as we hike back to my car. How long do you think you’ll take?’’ _

There are a couple _ tap-tap-taps  _ as Liam must work his phone, checking their route. ‘’Google  maps gives us two hours and seventeen minutes,’’ he answers after a couple ten seconds of silence.

_ ‘’Okay. I’ll call you when an hour has passed, to see where you are. Kira will send you the closest, mostly quiet, off road gas stations where you can park when we meet up, so check them up and drive accordingly.’’ _

‘’Cool,’’ Scott says happily. ‘’We’ll ring you when we get closer. Tell Kira I said I love her.’’

Derek can almost see how Stiles rolls his eyes at the wolf, entirely exasperated. The two of them aren’t even  _ together  _ anymore, despite Scott’s entirely futile efforts changing their status back to something more.  _ ‘’Tell her yourself when you’ll see her tonight. Just get Derek here to  _ me  _ so that I can make sure I see him at the end of the day, preferably  _ alive _.’’ _

Scott snorts. ‘’If his past so called ‘deaths’ are anything to go by, I think he’ll live for another hundred years,’’ he says, and continues easily over Stiles’ angry argument, ‘’He’ll be fine, dude. Just a case of minimal wolfsbane poisoning. Once we get it out of his system, he’ll be as good as new.’’

_ ‘’Just get him to me,’’  _ Stiles snaps, and hangs up. Liam makes an aborted sound low in his throat, his anxiety ramping up. Scott pats his head in reassurance, Derek thinks, and says, ‘’It’s okay, bud. Stiles just get tetchy whenever Derek’s hurt. It’s their magical bond or whatever. He’s not actually pissed at us.’’

‘’Oh,’’ Liam says. ‘’I thought it was Stiles’ necklace that was the source of their connection. You know? Since it seemed, dunno, kinda like a magically constructed bond. I’ve never seen anything like what they have in any other packs.’’

‘’Yeah, I don’t exactly know how that works?’’ Scott hazards, ‘’But Stiles once explained it somehow that when he feels that Derek is in danger through their, uh, mate bond or whatever, the necklace will start glowing or something, and then it should pinpoint Derek’s whereabouts on a map it’s placed onto. I’m not sure if Stiles created the whole thing from foundation up to begin with, since they did that ritual to complete their mating bonds, which sounds a lot like something Stiles would initiate and Derek wouldn’t.’’ When Liam’s face looks questioning, Scott explains, ‘’That weird, herbal mumbo jumbo thing they did a couple years back? You know. That one night that Stiles declared Derek under his protection and they both suddenly had these bite scars on their sides, and Stiles taking that triskele tattoo out of nowhere. But, um, yeah. I’ve never really calirified it. Didn’t seem important.’’

‘’Huh. I’ve never really thought about it either. It’s like one of those things that never comes up in a conversation I guess. But, if um, Stiles necklace should pinpoint Derek’s whereabouts  _ exactly _ , then how come it gave two points this time?’’ Liam asks, confused.

‘’Uh. Dunno,’’ Scott shrugs, putting the car in reverse and back away from their haphazard parking spot. ‘’Maybe because it burst, ‘cause Derek suddenly transported here?’’

‘’Oh.’’

‘’Yeah. I’m no expert though. You should ask Stiles about it.’’

‘’Maybe tomorrow,’’ Liam decides quietly. ‘’When Derek’s okay again.’’

‘’Derek will be fine,’’ Scott impatiently reassures the younger wolf, cranking the clutch and forcing it to one. ‘’Even when the dude got nothing, he still had time and energy to bug me and Stiles, and he’s gotten poles through his chest and alphas claws through him and, you know, survived all that. So I don’t think one measly wolfsbane poisoning will kill him.’’

_ No _ , Derek thinks fearfully,  _ this time might really be the last time.  _ And the worst part is that he isn’t  _ ready  _ to die today. Not anymore. From his teenage years to his early twenties, he might have had a wish or two about finally getting laid to rest, to be buried with his family, maybe even tried it once or thrice. He didn’t actively search for ways to die at the time when he met Stiles and Scott, but he certainly wasn’t careful not to be grievously injured, thinking that if he was finally gonna go, he’d go fighting for the people that deserved to live.

But now that he has Stiles, has a life, a job, a home, is finally  _ exuberant  _ with his  _ whole heart, _ he’s not ready to leave all of that for a cold casket. He wants to grow old, wants to marry Stiles, have kids, have grandkids, go through a middle-age crisis, build and rebuild him and Stiles a house after his kids have gone to college, wants to be  _ free  _ and  _ live  _ and  _ love _ .

And the mere thought of leaving Stiles behind,  _ alone _ , when there’s still so much to experience in this world, so many adventures he hasn’t taken Stiles to yet? It’s downright  _ painful _ .

As they bump through the gravel, the quite-but-not path that the two of wolves had driven up, he silently sends a prayer to Mother Moon that his partner will come through and for his body to not succumb into the pain of the poisoning, woving to fight as long as he can. And then, when he’ll be done with the grueling process of burning out the Northern Monkshood, the first thing he’ll do when he opens his eyes is to propose to Stiles. 

Ring be damned.

  
  
  


Time passes like molasses. Derek is vaguely aware that Scott and Liam keep conversing lightly in the front, though he no longer comprehends what they’re saying. They have music playing, and the hole-filled road has changed to smooth asphalt at some point that he wasn’t entirely aware. The cool air of the AC is a blessing, making it easier for him to breathe, regardless of the heat of the sun that burns against his black fur where it shines directly on him. His heartbeat has slowed down considerably, which he takes as a bad sign, but which Scott has obviously taken as good sign, since they’re clearly not hurrying anywhere. 

And dear god, is he so fucking  _ thirsty _ . He’d been running the whole time he’d gone through the territory, and hadn’t even thought to lap a little of the lake water when he visited the nymph community. And then he’d been whisked away by the residue magic of the witches, and despite scenting the water in Scott’s backpack, he hadn’t been offered any, and hadn’t been able to shift to even ask for it. He hadn’t been above whining for it, but he thinks Scott might have taken it as pain, and shrugged it off as something that will be fixed once they get to Stiles.

He licks his chops, tasting copper and aconite and the foul extract of it, the black goo covering his mouth. His tongue has dried and his mouth feels like the sahara desert, and he concocts images of sparkling fresh water with ice cubes, and pools with drinks of lemonade and his cold sports drink he keeps in the coolest part of the refrigerator. 

Derek hazily realizes that they’re slowing down, readying to turn. Hope sparks in his chest that enough time has passed while he’s been unaware and that Stiles is here. He can hear the hubbub of people surrounding them, traffic heavy where they are.

It makes him slightly confused, because he thought Stiles had pointed them to a direction of an off-road, quiet gas station so that they can extract the poison from his system without making a scene. As thick as the population seems to be from where he’s standing, they might have to relocate entirely because there won’t be a place where there won’t be any eyewitnesses.

Panting, Derek hones his ears and focuses on the conversation going on in the front.

‘’You think it’ll be okay to leave Derek here?’’ Liam asks. ‘’Won’t the temperature rise really high with weather like this?’’

‘’Nah,’’ Scott rebuffs easily. ‘’Since the AC has blown the whole way here, the car should stay cool enough while we eat. It won’t take more than half an hour, since the diner doesn’t look too crowded from here.’’

‘’If you say so,’’ Liam agrees dubiously.

Derek’s eyes widen incredulously. They’ve stopped to  _ eat _ ? Is Scott honestly that oblivious to what’s happening that he’s completely dismissing  _ all  _ of the signs that point straight to the fact that Derek’s body is shutting down, in every single way. Even  _ Derek  _ can smell the death stench on himself. The AC isn’t capable of covering up the horrible smell, nor drown out the sounds that Derek’s body is making. He’s not sure whether or not the two wolves are deliberately ignorant of the situation, or then they’re just that dumb as to not concentrate on the injured party. It would be near impossible for Derek to not focus on his wounded friend should their positions be swapped, and he has no idea why Scott is ignoring the severity of the situation.

They park under a tree, the car stopping on a shaded spot, and then everything goes quiet as Scott switches the key and turns off the engine. The air conditioner shuts down with a last whoop, the plastic and metal popping as it starts to cool down.

There’s rustling, and then Scott’s attention turns to him. ‘’Yo, Derek, are you awake?’’

Derek tries swallowing, but doesn’t quite manage it with his dry throat. He lets out a cracked whine.

‘’Okay, uh. We’re just gonna stop real quick to eat, okay? Stiles is on his way and we’ll meet him up soon _ ish, _ as fast as we’re done with dinner. Um. We’ll bring you something too, so just. Chill and relax. We’ll be back.’’

He doesn’t quite manage an answering whine before the younger wolves are popping out, slamming their doors shut and leaving Derek alone in a deafening silence. 

He’s certain this is all just an elaborate prank, or maybe a punishing nightmare. Scott wouldn’t. . . Scott honestly wouldn’t leave an injured person in the trunk of his car just so he can pop out to have an early dinner, right? It seems so much like something the willfully bullheaded and selfish high school Scott would do that it seems like he’s suddenly back in a time when everything around him worked against him, the smell of ashes and burnt flesh creeping to his nostrils as a phantom memory.

He shakes his head with a tiny movement, clearing his head. He is no longer twenty-one years old, and Scott isn’t an ignorant teenager deliberately trying to hurt him as a defense mechanism. They’ve grown out of that hostility. He thinks. Though as a former vet, Derek thinks Scott should know better than to leave someone in a car on a hot summer day, especially a person or an animal that isn’t capable of getting out themselves if things get too hot. He remembers Stiles showing him a video once, where a vet sat himself in a car and tried being there for thirty minutes in a scorching sun, and he remembers the temperature rising rapidly into unbearable levels. 

He can already feel the air getting thicker and stuffy as the AC isn’t filtering cool air into the car anymore. The heat creeps in, treacherous, as the degrees start climbing slowly up.

Derek whines, panic clawing away at his chest. He’s too weak to move anymore, and afraid to do it too, since it would mean that the poison would circulate through his veins faster. 

He noses slowly his head to point near the corner of the trunk, where there’s the tiniest draft blowing outside air in. The floor is wet with his blood, oozing through the wounds. He knows now how Stiles felt once, when he got stuck inside an abandoned well for two hours before Derek was able to heave him up with sturdy cargo straps, the claustrophobia almost crippling Stiles as he scrambled away from his temporary prison. His partner had described it as the walls feeling like they would cave in any minute, and that he’d suffocate there, unable to ever get to a open area to stretch his legs and arms, creeped out what could possibly be lurking in the bottom of the old thing.

It feels like that now. He battles nausea as the temperature rises and the sturdy metal sides of the trunk seem to be boxing him in, the space shrinking with each panicked gurgle. His head is throbbing painfully, the pit of his stomach like leaden, and if he’d be in his human form, he’d no doubt be pale and sweating. Tremors shake his entire frame, and he just wants  _ out _ .

His fear and terror of the situation is turning into anger, and he wants to snap and tear at everything that’s trying to keep him in here right now, he wants to run and stretch and  _ breathe- _

He vomits, stomach acids and aconite staining his nozzle and the side of his head that’s resting against the floor. It clogs his throat, making it harder to inhale and exhale, and it ratchets up his anxiety even more. The air is getting heavier by the minute, and he whines and sways his frame back and forth uneasily, trying to sooth himself. Calm himself.

There is no way Stiles isn’t receiving his increasingly distressed signals, but he isn’t getting any feedback sent back. At some point, unbeknownst to him, the comforting strokes against their bond had lessened and muted. In fact, as he tries concentrating his energy onto the bond between the two of them, he can barely make it out. It’s fading, trembling, along with Derek’s life force.

Spitting out as much of the black goo as he can, he gathers his breath and wrenches one good, long scream, hoping that, even if Stiles doesn’t make it to him before Scott and Liam do, then at least a passerby might alert someone. Get him out of the suffocating heat, take the steel claws off his body. Help him to just cool down enough that he won’t die of a heat induced heart attack.

  
  
  
  
  


Stiles is equal amounts of pissed and fucking  _ terrified _ . He can feel the bond he shares with Derek weakening, the wolf no longer comprehending his soothing energy. The fearful cries of help are tearing at Stiles’ heart, and he knows there isn’t much time left. He’s not sure how Scott came to the conclusion that Derek is a-okay, because right now it certainly feels like his mate is  _ dying _ , and Stiles might not even be fast enough to be there when it happens.

Not that he’d let it happen. If Derek’s heart gives out on the scene, Stiles will revive it, damn the consequences.

What he’s downright pissed about, is the fact that he can see right from the map that Scott has stopped in a diner parking lot. At first he thought it might be because they were running low on gas, and he didn’t think much of it as he kept speeding at dangerous limits, racing against time to get to where they are.

But they’ve been idle there for the past twenty minutes, and Stiles is honestly ready to do some verbal eviscerating if their pitstop is  _ anything  _ but an emergency. He’s not sure how on earth the two of them have managed to get Derek out of the car without attracting unwanted attention to them if they couldn’t even manage to get Derek to shift, or take the poisoned bear traps off of him. But they must’ve somehow done it, because their gas filling wasn’t just a quick one.

The traffic is unbearable as he curves almost violently into the parking lot, finally shutting down the sirens on top of his cruiser. He spots Scott’s car almost immediately, the car half in shade in a corner of the lot, a couple spaces conveniently free next to it.

Stiles takes the chance and pulls his car to a stop right beside Scott’s, scrambling to get out of the vehicle as fast as he can, only slowing down for a second to pull out his backpack where his herbs and ashes are. Ignoring the looks he gets as he steps out of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s cruiser in his normal clothing, his uniform nowhere in sight, he locks the cruiser and stuffs his keys into his pockets. He didn’t have the time or the mind to change clothes to his sheriff’s suit when he just flat out ran out of the apartment once he’d established where Derek had disappeared to.

Or. Well. He was surprised when his necklace had burst into millions of pieces when he did the locating spell with it, getting  _ two  _ possible locations for Derek, when all he’d ever gotten was one. He hasn’t puzzled it out yet as to why it happened, but he has a hunch it has to do with a magical spell that Derek must’ve somehow triggered, since he flat out transported to another town in a matter of seconds. Once he knew that Derek was in two definite places, and that his partner would never disappear voluntarily without telling Stiles first, he called Scott and Kira to come with him to scope the two locations out. Scott had taken Liam with him, and they had decided together that Stiles and Kira would go where he knows Derek was last, and Scott and Liam would take the road trip further away.

He pulls up his phone and taps at the screen to dial Scott, wanting to hear where they’re at, when he hears a soul-wrenching  _ scream  _ of a howl coming from Scott’s car. At the same time, he feels like there’s an almost  _ violent  _ tug of their bond, like a last, desperate call for help.

Freezing in spot, Stiles looks down at his phone and then back to his brother’s car. 

There is  _ no  _ chance, that  _ Scott _ , as an  _ ex-veterinarian _ has left someone in his - 

Plastering himself against the glass of the trunk, he snatches his sunglasses off his face and peers inside. It takes a moment for the sun to stop stinging his eyes enough to make out the shapes of what lay inside, but he does.

And promptly staggers back in shock. Holding his breath for a couple seconds, he tears his eyes away, fighting the bile rising to his throat. He sways, resting his hand against the glass window.

‘’I’m gonna get you out of there, love,’’ Stiles swallows, forcing himself to look at his partner. His  _ half-dead, _ bleeding and injured love of his life. He hasn’t seen Derek this close to death in  _ years  _ and  _ years _ . Things had been _ so good _ after Stiles rose to the sheriff’s position, securing the power and responsibility it came with. Their hold on the territory is solid, making severe life threatening situations like these few and far between. ‘’You hold on now, Derek, okay? I’m gonna get you out of there, and then we’ll get you all healed up, take you somewhere nice and cool, alright?’’

Not waiting for Derek’s response, Stiles sprints inside the diner. Since Derek now knows Stiles is here, and that rescue is just seconds from happening, the bond between them goes lax with relief. 

The diner is blessedly chilled, a huge contrast to the scorching heat of the outdoors. Stiles wipes sweat away from his brow, easily locating Scott and Liam where they’re lounging in a booth. There are half-empty plates in front of them with a couple sodas bubbling alongside their utensils. Scott looks up as he enters, looking surprised to see him.

Marching straight to the table, Stiles pushes his hand out and demands, ‘’Keys to your car.  _ Now _ .’’

‘’Heyy, I didn’t think you’d be so fast! Did you break the sound barrier driving here?’’ Scott jokes, but obliges, reaching for his pants to fish out the keys.

‘’I cannot  _ believe you _ ,’’ Stiles fumes, snatching the offered item from Scott’s palm and then hitting the back of his brother’s head,  _ hard _ . Scott isn’t expecting it, and doesn’t push back against the hit, crashing his forehead painfully onto the table. The  _ crack  _ sound it makes is rather spectacularly loud.

‘’Ow!’’ He cries out. ‘’ _What the_ _hell_?’’

‘’I’m gonna  _ kill  _ you two,’’ Stiles snarls. He doesn’t have time to stay and explain further, even though he  _ really, really wants to, because Jesus fucking Christ _ , so he takes Scott’s fizzing drink and throws it over Liam’s wide-eyed form.  The wolf squeaks, trying to dodge, but doesn’t manage it in such a small space, soaking his face and front. With a last bare of his teeth, Stiles turns and jogs out of the building, changing to another sprint when he gets outside, barely avoiding hitting passers-by. 

He beeps the car open already from afar. The trunk door starts to pull up in increments and when Stiles reaches it, he wrenches it open. A wall of hot, humid air hits him in the face as he does so. It’s almost painful as it reaches his skin, and he wonders, for two whole seconds, how Derek is not already further closer to death than he is now.

‘’Hey, baby,’’ Stiles says softly, reaching for the wolf. Derek’s fur is scorching hot when it comes to contact with his palms, but he pays the sting no mind. Derek’s suffering is beyond worse than his. ‘’I’m here now. I’m gonna get you all fixed up, okay big guy?’’

When Derek doesn’t move or indicate in any way that he’s heard him, Stiles takes a deep, calming breath, quelling his panic and starts working on the bear traps. As he does so, he talks, filling up the silence that would otherwise only enhance the frantic beat of his heart. ‘’I have no idea how Scott and Liam got you in the car with all of these still on you. Fuckers have burrowed into you deep. Ripped your goddamn skin apart,  _ Jesus _ . Why didn’t they just use their shirts to cover their palms and get these off of you? It would’ve worked just as well if they had stopped to  _ think,  _ even just for a moment.’’ 

He takes a closer look at the metal and sees the purple substance painting them, the wolfsbane far from the regular ones they’re used to. The color is too dark, the ash too fine. ‘’Northern Monkshood,’’ he hisses, climbing in the trunk with Derek to get a better grip on the cruel devices. ‘’Jesus fucking christ. You’re so goddamn lucky you’re much more paranoid than I am, forcing me to have every single strain of wolfsbane on me at all times. Like, you just can’t do things by halves, can you? _ Of course  _ you had to be poisoned by the nastiest strain out of all of them, and then get stuck with those two idiots that have no idea what kind of damage it does to your body.’’

With a grunt, he manages to open first of the traps that resides on Derek’s neck, fur and flesh coming off with it as it clunks open. Derek whimpers, a first sign that he’s at least conscious on some level if the wolf is able to register pain. ‘’It’s okay,’’ he soothes his partner. ‘’You’re doing good. I got the first one out. Four more to go, okay? You can do it. I’ll be right here with you. You’re not alone, buddy. Just like the old times, yeah?’’

He tosses the first metal junk down to the ground and moves to another one, on Derek’s back. The monkshood is slightly poisonous even to humans, and Stiles palms start to tingle fairly quickly. It’s nothing compared to what Derek’s going through though, so he bears it easily.

‘’I’ve got some cool water in my car,’’ Stiles says as he concentrates his strength into tearing the iron jaws apart. ‘’You know, in that cooler you bought me for hot summer days because you’re always worrying I’m gonna faint from a heat stroke when I work. And I know I haven’t told you, but it does help remind me to drink more often, because it’s glaring at me with blue and orange stripes from the corner of my office, or the feet of the passenger side floor. It’s so convenient that it’s easily portable, and I grumble about it because everyone at the station makes fun of me for it, but I’m honestly so grateful.’’

There’s a snap as another trap falls off. Stiles fights the urge to vomit, blood gushing out of the open wound. Derek has no such inhibitions and forks out a great amount of black goo from his mouth, his eyes white and panicked.

‘’Shh,’’ Stiles soothes him. ‘’Let it out, it’s okay. Three more to go. Then I’ll be able to help you out of this stupid fucking car and let you drink some. Sounds like a great plan, right?’’

He does his best to do his job with minimal jostling. Being the source of Derek’s agony is horrible, and seeing him fight with his own awareness so that he won’t slip into further down the edge of death is downright  _ terrifying _ . There’s always the possibility that this wouldn’t even have happened if Stiles had decided to scour further out of their territory for magical residue. The witches’ hut had been fairly close even, though the spell was weak and Stiles could only sense it after Derek had already triggered it. The guilt chips away at his heart, even knowing that Derek most likely won’t even blame him. Derek will be grateful that Stiles managed to save his life, regardless of whether or not Stiles could have prevented it from happening in the first place.

It takes fifteen minutes of sweat and swearing and whimpering before he throws the last of the traps away. By then, he’s panting and slick, and Derek is teetering on the brink of the unthinkable.

Scott and Liam make an appearance then, both of them walking slowly from the diner, Liam with a scowl on his face as his tank top is soaked, and Scott with an angry, if slightly confused glare. 

Deciding to ignore them, Stiles manages to gently bring the wolf down to rest on the cool ground. He rummages around his own car for a moment for water. Once he finds both the jug and Derek’s sports bottle, he returns to his partner. 

Pouring the water from the jug on Derek’s fur seems to be a good idea to lower his heated body temperature as well as for cleaning the wounds from the superficial wolfsbane. He rubs the water into the fur, massaging Derek’s muscles with it. He hates that it won’t be enough, that he’ll have to burn the ashes into the wounds and hurt Derek even more in the process. But he lets it be just for a moment, letting his partner have a moment to breathe.

And as an apology, Stiles will definitely perform the purifying ritual.  _ That _ , if anything, will help Derek to relax.

Scott crouches beside Stiles, not close enough to touch.

‘’If I were you,’’ Stiles grits venomously, ‘’I’d walk away from this right now before I punch you in the fucking face.’’

Scott regards him for a few seconds before complying without an argument. He whispers something to Liam, who rolls his eyes, but they retreat to a shaded spot a little further away on the grass.

Stiles continues his ministrations, wetting Derek’s head. The wolf under his palms lets out a relieved sigh. ‘’Hey,’’ Stiles says gently. ‘’You awake?’’

Derek whines, soft and barely there. It must make his throat ache, his lungs rattling with every breath so loud even Stiles can hear it.

‘’I know,’’ Stiles says, rueful and apologetic. ‘’But you’re almost in safer waters. There’s not much to do but to burn the poison off. It’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker, though.’’

Licking his chops pointedly, Derek lets out another small sound. 

‘’Oh, fuck, yeah. Let’s get you some water to drink.’’ He grabs the sports bottle, pushing the mouthpiece open, letting small droplets to drop onto Derek’s parched tongue. His partner laps at the cool liquid, gathering as much as he can before swallowing.

Stiles frowns as Derek continues to drink, thinking. ‘’It’s a miracle that you aren’t dead already,’’ he ponders quietly. ‘’In fact, you  _ should  _ be dead. I don’t think it’s normal that you withstood hours of dehydration, heat stroke and a wolfsbane poisoning without your heart giving out. Your core temperature is way off the charts for your intestines and brain to not be boiling right now.’’ He studies Derek for a while. He hesitates, stroking Derek’s head, and asks, ‘’Did something happen to you before you got to that cabin?’’

Derek gives a nod, stopping for a moment to pant, clearly feeling better now that he’s gotten something to wet his mouth and throat. 

‘’Okay,’’ Stiles nods. ‘’And whatever it is that happened to you helped you through the heat, right? I’ll uh, ask about it later, okay? In case it’ll come bite us in the ass later on.’’ He sighs wearily, dreading what’s to come. ‘’But we gotta get you somewhere quiet where I can help you. Will you be able to stand it if I lift you into my cruiser?’’

There’s a resigned huff of air before Derek offers another small nod. Stiles takes it. 

He eyes his surroundings, seeing strangers looking at his direction. But all of the gazes are fleeting, like they should be. He knows without a rune to keep them fairly off the radar, these people would be filming the scene with their cell phones, or calling a wildlife department for a wolf rescue. With his glamor, their human audience will forget they even saw anything before they’ve even properly turned away from the two of them.

Taking great care in handling the wounded wolf, Stiles rolls Derek to a better position before he slowly lifts him up in to his arms, stopping with every pained whine to adjust Derek better. Eventually he finds a posture that is the most gentle on Derek’s hurt body and is able to carry him to his car. It’s not easy. Derek weighs a lot, especially now that he’s wet, and while Stiles has beefed out himself over the years, it’s still a strain to his muscles to get Derek where he wants him. 

He lays his partner onto the backseat, spreading him out as much as he can, trying to even out the weight. The cruiser’s interior is still blessedly cool, the AC in full blast. Stiles sends his thanks to the universe for advanced technology. When Derek’s eyes roll to the back of his head as Stiles touches on a sore wound, he murmurs, ‘’I know, I know. I’m sorry. Shh. It’s okay. Not long now. You’ll be alright.’’

Kissing Derek’s snout, he retreats, straightening his clothes as he slams the door shut. Then he turns to face the side where Liam and Scott are still sitting, monitoring Stiles’ movements. His anger builds at their nonchalance, making him grit his teeth together so hard they creak.

Two minutes. He’s willing to give them  _ two minutes _ to explain themselves, and if an explanation worthy enough isn’t forthcoming, Stiles is going to fucking  _ wring someone’s neck.  _ Or possibly punch someone in the dick.

He goes to Scott’s car, slamming the trunk shut and locking it. Then he marches over to the two wolves, throwing the keys into Scott’s face. They don’t hit their mark though, before Scott catches them on his palm. They stare at each other for a moment, Stiles too furious to find proper words. Scott is clearly wary, knowing how bright and long Stiles’ fury burns. He may bury the metaphorical war hatchet, but he always remembers where.

He wants to say so many things.  _ ‘How dare you?’  _ o _ r ‘How could you?’  _ or  _ ‘Why are you always using Derek as a punching bag to your ire?’  _ or  _ ‘Have you always acted with so much contempt whenever you’re around Derek?’  _ but the words are stuck in his throat in the face of his brother’s indifference. He knows he’s the one who asked Scott for help, to drive hours away on his day off. But to think that he’d do something like  _ this _ ? 

‘’How many years did you work as an assistant of a vet?’’ Stiles manages eventually. He’s entirely too calm now, the anger shimmering underneath his skin, ready to erupt at any given moment.

Scott cocks his head, considering what kind of answer would be a right one for him. ‘’Five,’’ he says.

‘’And how many pet owners did you or Deaton call the SPCA for?’’ Stiles presses.

Squinting, Scott hesitates, ‘’A couple dozen a month, I guess? Maybe a bit more frequently during summer.’’

‘’And why,’’ Stiles grits out, ‘’Pray tell me, did you call them more frequently during summer?’’

‘’Uh. Because the animals were heat exhausted when the owners brought them in?’’

Stiles raises his eyebrows pointedly. 

Scott, unsurprisingly, does not get it. ‘’What? It’s true. I showed you that video that one time about the vet that sat in a car less than thirty minutes before he had to get out of the heat. Most dog owners think five minutes in a store isn’t gonna kill their pets when they leave them in car that’s directly under sunlight, and the five minutes sometimes turn to twenty or more without them meaning it to. Most of the cases are harmless ignorance that’s fixed with a warning to not do it again. Some people though - ‘’

‘’ _ Leave their injured pack members in a hot car for over thirty minutes just so they can stop to eat!’ _ ’ Stiles furiously finishes for him. ‘’You nearly  _ killed  _ Derek because you never stop to fucking  _ think _ . How much closer to death does he have to be in order for you to finally  _ give a damn?  _ Why is it always  _ Derek’s  _ life and comfort you disregard so easily _?’’ _

Scott sighs a little wearily, like it’s the nth time they’ve had this discussion. And it is. Stiles has lost count of all the time he’s had to defend Derek’s autonomy because Scott has no qualms about using Derek as a werewolf shield. With a mulish expression, Scott says, ‘’Dude. I know you’re a little off the rocks right now because Derek’s hurt. But you don’t have to explode in my face for it, when  _ we’re  _ the ones who went through all the trouble in driving here and getting him out of the freaking forest. You just need to calm down and take a deep breath. Okay? Derek’s  _ fine _ . A little case of wolfsbane poisoning. That’s it. That’s all it is. He’s survived through it before and getting a little hot in a humid car isn’t gonna make him worse off.’’

Stiles gives a strangled scream in the low of his throat, ready to tear his hair in frustration. ‘ _ ’For fuck’s sake, Scott.  _ Even  _ you  _ aren’t this dense or insensitive. You’ve always kept Derek at an arm’s length in the past, thinking him as the enemy, or the bedruging ally that you go crying to when things get out of control, and even now, even after all these years of being in a pack together has you treating him worse than you would a stranger. And I want to know  _ why _ . Because this is getting  _ really  _ fucking inappropriate and I’ve never seen you treat anyone with such disrespect as you do Derek. So fucking  _ explain  _ it to me.’’

Pursing his lips, Scott stares down at the grass mulishly. ‘’Derek isn’t pack,  _ my  _ pack, and never will be. He was such a dick back when we first met, you know? I didn't know how you could stand being in the presence of him. I  _ still  _ don’t. Things were so fucked up and he was just so angry all the time, so freaking  _ violent _ . All we did was help him, and he just kept bossing us around, telling me off for seeing Allison, interfering with school and stuff.  _ My mom  _ nearly  _ died  _ because of him. I just got so sick of that. And so when you started hanging out with him, doing stuff like, spending time at his house looking for Erica and Boyd that one summer, or going to the library with him to research or whatever the hell it was the two of you did once you were alone, I decided that I would never let him in through you. Because I know you saw through his plot too, right?’’

‘’What the fuck are you talking about? What  _ plot _ ?’’ Stiles demands, angry and confused.

He watches, oddly fascinated as Scott goes through emotions like guilt and anger and self-righteousness, considering hoarding a secret but unable to, now that Stiles has caught on to something. ‘’That. . . That Derek - That Derek is only together with you so he can get  _ me  _ as his alpha!’’ Scott blurts out. Then he cringes, looking like he wants to take the words back to his mouth, but he cannot. So he continues in a rush, ‘’He’s only in a relationship with you because he needs me to anchor him to the pack  and he doesn’t have any other way to convince me to have him. You  _ know  _ he’s been an omega for years, and he’s anchorless and packless and you’re the only tying component in this equation helping him keep his control. And I knew the truth would hurt you, so I never said anything, but it’s so obvious! You’re my best friend and when I rejected him as my alpha, and then again as a beta, he decided to manipulate you into talking to me, and getting him to join our pack.’’

Stiles almost doesn’t believe his ears. He gapes at Scott incredulously, the man looking at him in earnest. So he says the only logical thing that comes to his mind. ‘’We’ve been together for over seven years!’’

‘’I know!’’ Scott exclaims, apologetic. ‘’I never thought he would be horrible enough to get this far, dude- I thought that he’d pretend for like a month or two and then break up with you when I wouldn’t be budged on the issue, but then he kept pulling the ruse and now you’re buying a house together and it’s all just a one big hoax!’’

Stunned, Stiles stares speechlessly at Scott. He isn’t even sure how to start unraveling what the man has just revealed to him, where to start picking apart at the unreal world Scott has apparently been living in. Because the man is entirely serious. Stiles can see it in his eyes, in his posture, all of him screaming of regret and fierce stubbornness. 

Slowly shaking his head, Stiles rubs a hand down his face. He gives a faint, ‘’Oh my God,’’ while he hides his face for a few precious moments. He wonders whether or not this is the kind of behaviour Derek has to put up from Scott on a daily basis. No wonder his partner doesn’t want to hang with Scott and his pack. He gathers himself, takes a deep breath and looks up. ‘’First of all. You cannot blame Derek for the way he chose to survive in the past. You’ve no possible way to comprehend the magnitude of the loss he went through when we first met. It’s unfair and undignified of you to hold his grieving past self over his head as something he did just because you thought he was an asshole. Remember what  _ I  _ did when  _ my  _ mom died? I almost got expelled three times because I was unruly, angry ball of fury that I unleashed towards everyone and everything.  _ You  _ almost left back then. I broke things because I could, I picked fights, and trashed public places, stole dad’s money and nearly destroyed his reputation as a deputy. If dad hadn’t been drowning in his Jack Daniels, his first instinct of seeing me behave like that wouldn’t have been to shun me and tear me down, like we did to Derek. We beat him when he was already down, and that was low for us, even as sixteen year olds. We were old enough to know better, to exercise empathy. But we didn’t. We took his angry shield as a face value and fucking trashed his trust and his heart just because we didn’t want to feel guilty about digging up Laura when he’d already buried her once in the privacy of the preserve where their ancestors blessed her grave. Which  _ we  _ desecrated.’’

Scott opens his mouth, no doubt to refute it, but Stiles doesn’t let him. Instead, he grabs Scott’s collar and forces the man almost nose to nose with him, hissing in his face, ‘’We’re both twenty-seven years old, Scott. This kind of bullshit has to  _ stop _ . Okay? This mindless blame throwing and guilt tripping you’re doing is pointless and it’s ruining  _ everything _ . Derek is not going  _ anywhere _ . He’s always going to be part of my family,  _ my pack, _ and if you wish to remain outside of it, then be my fucking guest. We may have shared a sandbox once, and we may have supported each other throughout all of our childhood hardships, but right now? Right now you’re the one making my life miserable by treating the person I care about the most in this world like he’s worth less than the mud on the soles of your shoes. And I’ve put up with it for a pretty fucking long time. But it’s in my hands to make it stop, and. . . And this time I will.’’ He lets the man go with a push back.

Scott frowns, stumbling back a step where Stiles shoves him. ‘’What do you mean by that? Are you - Are you honestly telling me you don’t believe me?’’

Stiles levels Scott a look. ‘’You may have lived in a self-appointed magical fantasy world this entire time we’ve known Derek, but I haven’t. If you think by now I wouldn’t know Derek just as thoroughly as I know myself, you are sorely mistaken. We’re  _ mated _ , for fuck’s sake.’’

‘’I - What, are you - Are you trying to tell me that Derek is forcing his false feelings onto you?’’ Scott’s eyes widen. ‘’Is it the magical bond you have? Did he pressure you - ‘’

‘’Derek didn’t force me to do a single thing I didn’t want to do,’’ Stiles snarls. ‘’Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound right now?  Jesus. Did you just listen to a single fucking thing I said? Have you  _ ever  _ paid any attention to me when I’ve explained about the rituals and the bond to you? Or have you brushed all that off and banking it on Derek’s general assholiness to keep up the, the ‘ruse’ or whatever, long enough to be able to join  _ your  _ pack?’’ Stiles gives a hollow chuckle. ‘’Yeah, no need to worry about that. I don’t think Derek needs to think about dumping me to bow down to you, God True Alpha Scott McCall because, in case you haven’t noticed, or, maybe in your case, haven’t paid any attention to anything that doesn’t directly concern you, Derek  _ is  _ an alpha. Has been for over two years now.’’

‘’What?’’ Scott demands. ‘’Shit. An alpha? When? How?  _ Who did he kill?’’ _

‘’Who said anything about killing anyone?’’ Stiles asks icily. ‘’And what would you even do with that information? It’s not like knowing the truth will swing you one way or another.’’

‘’Of course it does matter,’’ Scott growls. ‘’There’s been a strange alpha werewolf living in my territory - ‘’

Stiles does a quick motion with his hand, zipping Scott’s mouth shut with his magic. The wolf’s eyes widen in shock, hands coming to paw at his closed mouth that won’t budge.  ‘’Not. Everything. Is. About.  _ You _ ,’’ Stiles snarls out. He’s more than done with Scott’s ignorance and self-absorbedness. It’s clear that no matter what he says or does, it won’t register to Scott at all. Almost as if the world doesn’t orbit around anything else but him. To think that his brother has lived this _ whole time _ in the mindset that Derek was in a relationship with Stiles _ just because  _ he wanted to join Scott’s ragtag team of a pack? He’s never heard such ridiculous crap from Scott before, and that’s saying something. Almost like neither Stiles nor Derek are good enough for themselves, and each other, and only Scott is good enough to be sought after. 

The reality is a harsh one. He knows he and Scott  have drifted apart during these last five to six years, but it doesn’t hurt any less. Kira and Derek have slowly but surely secured their spots within Stiles’ circle of best friends, and Scott has detached himself from it a long time ago.

Probably already back when Stiles was twenty, and drowning in his ghosts, seeking out Derek for solace, safety and comfort. And once Derek opened that door, it has never closed against Stiles’ face. There has always been a welcome sign over the secure arms of Derek’s, even when the older man has been angry. He has never been turned away from an embrace he sought out, never left touched-starved for contact since the first night Derek embraced him tightly. And that saga has continued, and will continue, for as long as he lives.

He doesn’t even remember when was the last time he even touched Scott just because he could, and not out of necessity. They haven’t hugged since god knows when last, though the thought of that isn’t as hard to swallow as he thought it would be. 

‘’The next time we see each other,’’ Stiles spits, ‘’If the first words out of your mouth aren’t an apology, to me and to Derek, then you can kiss our friendship goodbye.’’ 

He turns away, letting Liam rush to Scott’s side to see if he’s okay, and jogs to his car. Derek needs to be seen to, and he spent entirely too long in talking to Scott. Settling on the front seat, he thinks he’s going to have to drive a little detour pitstop to burn the poison off, and then they’ll finally be getting back home where he can cater to Derek’s every need.

As he turns to the backseat, he reaches for his partner and brushes his hand over Derek’s skull, pondering momentarily whether or not Scott truly deserves forgiveness or the nth chance he’s considering giving him. But then Derek whimpers, black goo dripping from his nostrils and ears, and all other thoughts fall away but saving Derek, and he speeds off the parking lot as fast as he can.

All else can wait.

As he exits, he lets his eyes drift quickly to his rearview mirror. Liam is frantically calling someone as Scott tries forcing his mouth open to no avail. The wolf has his both hands prying his own lips apart, elongated nails digging into the flesh. With a snap of his fingers, the spell weaves itself off and Scott wrenches his mouth open with his hands with a huge crack, almost dislocating his jaw. 

There.  _ Now  _ he can concentrate on Derek.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Derek slowly comes to, when he feels gentle hands brush against his skin. His very human, very naked skin. He lets the soothing caresses lure him softly into awareness, not bothering to open his eyes yet.

He’s sitting on their bed covers on their living room floor, the creak of the floorboards audible whenever Stiles shifts himself. His back is leaning against Stiles’ chest, head pillowed on his partner’s shoulder, the gentle huffs of air tickling his cheek. He can smell the incense and herbs Stiles is using, knows in his heart the position of the blue and green and purple rocks placed on the floor around them. Can almost picture them in his mind.

Stiles has performed the purifying ritual on him three times in the past, the ceremony lengthy and hard to produce with limited resources. The air around them is clean, filtered for this sole purpose, the curtains draped shut with low lighting. Derek can feel their skins rubbing together, Stiles just as bared to the world as he is. His partner has clearly somehow managed to drag him into the bathroom and cleaned him up from all the dirt and blood and sweat and aconite. It makes him feel cared for, the act of cleansing familiar and comforting.

He’s not in pain anymore. All of the traces of the poison have been purged, leaving him only weakened and healing. There’s an exhausted strain in his muscles, his entire frame limp with the relief of being free and functioning. Derek opens his eyes, blinking heavily against the gentle glow of the candles positioned around the apartment.

The map throughout his skin seems to expand further and further, reaching the thick of his thighs, the v of his groin, curling away from his stomach and up to his chest. Stiles’ warmth seems to radiate everywhere, the caress against the muscles of his arms, the spider web of the backs of his hands, the tips of his nails. His neck and his ears and the thick tendon of his adam’s apple, the sharp hills of his cheekbones. Not a single part of him has been left without a touch, goosebumps littering the trail in its wake.

Stiles’ hands finally stop drawing symbols on their skins, his fingers wet with his healing concoction, the herbs smelling bitter and fresh. Pineneedles and mugwort. The symbols feel cool against the chilly apartment air, a great reprieve from the thick, stifling air of the trunk. His muscles stay lax and rather far away as he tries turning his head to bump his nose against Stiles’ jaw. 

He doesn’t quite manage it, but Stiles notices that he’s awake, and hums in response. Since Stiles doesn’t attempt to speak, Derek doesn’t force himself to grasp for any words either. Instead, he gets a small kiss near his eye, and a nudge of Stiles’ nose against his temple. Stiles’ hands wander up his stomach to his chest, cupping it from both sides, warming him.

There’s something wet and long poking at his lower back, Stiles’ cock sliding up and down as the man’s palms rub his front. His own cock is still soft between his legs, curled away from the cold. He’s content that way for now though, knowing it won’t be long before he’ll eagerly get on board.

He feels Stiles shift to the side, reaching for something.

‘’Here,’’ Stiles murmurs, recalling the words to the beginning of the ritual, offering a glass to Derek’s lips. ‘’Just a couple sips for a parched mouth.’’

Derek obliges, parting his lips and letting the cool liquid trickle down. It tastes like mint and lemonade, a soothing balm to his dry throat. The urge to just gulp it down greedily is strong but not overwhelming, and he doesn’t succumb to it. With a sigh, he lets Stiles know he’s done by slowly turning his head away from the rim. 

‘’You okay to proceed?’’ Stiles whispers, setting the glass further off from the ring of rocks. He holds on to both of Derek’s breasts again, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Despite the cool temperature of the room, Stiles is somehow warm like a furnace, a drastic contrast to their usual positions. He finds that he likes it, likes it a lot.

Nodding, Derek lets himself be relaxed in the embrace, just fluidly going along with Stiles’ movements. His cock perks up a little when Stiles’ other hand comes to palm it, gently cupping the soft skin. It feels good, familiar. Stiles likes to do this while they sleep, either by keeping his hand curled protectively over Derek’s soft cock, or his thigh pressed between Derek’s legs, supporting his sex while his arms are wrapped around Derek’s upper body.

Stiles starts chanting words in a foreign tongue, his voice dropping to something ethereal and deep, eyes glazing over as he creates a path up Derek’s torso, fingers trailing an invisible rivers across his skin. He dips into the symbols one by one, connecting each and every one of them, shattering their meanings. 

The words trickle down within Derek’s body, his heart, their bond going tight with pressure. Once, he tried finding out what the chant to the ritual is. The foreign words drip so easily out of Stiles’ mouth, curved perfectly with his clever tongue, that Derek had wanted to know what kind of words could possibly make him feel so overwhelmingly amazing. Stiles hadn’t made it too difficult, leaving the books right in alphabetical order in their shared library, and inherent curiosity had taken its hold. He scoured the book methodically, reading every chapter, only to find the pages he needed to be the most used, mouse-eared ones with Stiles’ scent all over them. The ritual, however, didn’t have any definite words. The most important ingredient was the belief of a spark, the spellcaster, for the things he needed to purify, and the one performing the ritual could use any words they wished, as long as they were uttered with good intent.

He’d been a little disappointed, until he realized that the reason the rituals felt so good to him was because Stiles literally wishes so, every single time. It could feel painful when his body is being ordered to heal, wounds knitting closed in record time, bones refitting together, his intestines rearranging themselves into right order where they’ve been pierced open. But it doesn’t. And he doubts it ever will.

He tunes in as the power surges from the rocks, lighting them up. With clarity, he feels it when Stiles asks for strength, his muscles finding their firmness, power and stamina gathering back into his weak frame. It makes his brain trick him into thinking he’s invincible again, a protector of his pack.  _ Alpha _ , his wolf growls, pleased. 

He knows Stiles asks for bravery, when he feels his heart start beating faster, his fears of abandonment, guilt and loneliness evaporating, pushed back into the nasty black box in his mind and locked tight. Shame and self-loathing are replaced with Stiles’ endless affection, the cracks in his heart healing again where they were ripped open. Scott’s hatred of him has never ceased, but the sting has lessened over time, though not entirely. Now it shrinks insignificantly to the background with a tiny squish of Stiles’ fist.

Then Stiles asks for health and healing, forcing the remaining vestiges of the poison out of his body. The aconite bubbles out of his arm where Stiles quickly makes an incision, the man’s hand guiding the ashes through his veins with his spark to exit out of the wound. It tickles, where the poison follows a path away from his system, the knife wound numb on the edges of it. It closes quickly when there’s nothing but clear blood flowing out, and Stiles covers it with another line of the thick salve. 

He shakes when Stiles asks for vitality and exuberance, his cock filling up with the intimate whispers against his ear, the rough palm of Stiles’ hand finding his sex, touching it, coaxing it into hardness. He doesn’t rut into the fist jacking him, though he wants to. Letting Stiles take care of him, believing and trusting him to do exactly that, heightens his pleasure even more. Pure  _ want  _ surges through his body like electricity, quickening the beat of his heart. Unthinking, he opens his legs further apart, letting Stiles’ deft fingers dip to trace his sack, rubbing his balls and handling them on his palm, before he ventures further down to Derek’s rim. It flutters in anticipation as Stiles parts his cheeks with two fingers, pushing against the opening with the width of his finger, not venturing in, but moving back and forth on the sensitive skin. It makes Derek moan, Stiles’ heartbeat quickening deliciously as the height of his arousal thickens in the air. His head drops back against Stiles’ shoulder where he’d been peeking down on himself, his neck tensing into an arch. His partner’s voice is husky and low, driving him maddeningly closer to his peak. Shaking, he grips the comforter under them, toes curling with pleasure.

He’s dripping against his own belly when Stiles demands for love and devotion, feels the aching throb of his own sex, grinds against the finger steadily rubbing over his hole. Stiles’ cock drools on his back, liquid trailing down his skin, dropping to his crack where it eventually meets with Stiles’ digits. His whole body is taut with the overwhelming experience, ready to burst. Where his chest had been heavy and stomach filled with leaden, he now is feathery light and his belly ravenous with hunger.

He’s  _ alive _ .

With a moan, he looks down at his frame that is now green and purple from the salve, and red and flushed with sweat. He arches against Stiles’ hand that wraps around his cock, keens when Stiles thumbs against the weeping head.

‘’Come for me,’’ Stiles demands, taking him fully into his hand, jacking him with renewed vigor, and Derek is helpless to do anything but obey. He comes enthusiastically, painting his front with his spunk, groaning when his vision whitens and his eyes roll to the back of his head by the intensity.

Stiles ruts up against his lower back, coming mere seconds after Derek goes limp in his arms, his teeth biting down into the junction of Derek’s neck and shoulder, completing the ritual.

They pant in tandem, sweat trickling down their torsos. Stiles flops down onto the floor on his back, drawing Derek down with him as he goes. As he settles into a sideways position, Stiles draws him closer and devours his mouth. Kissing back seems rather hard in Derek’s dazed state, but he does, responding to the heat softer and slower than Stiles. 

It changes the tempo to something more gentle, more calm, making Stiles sigh in contentment against his lips. Both of their hearts are galloping in their chests, thrumming  _ alive, alive, alive, _ and Derek can’t help but revel in it, not wanting to come down from the high.

‘’Love you,’’ Stiles murmurs after a moment, pillowing his head on his arm, his other one sneaking to drape around Derek. He falls into the embrace gratefully, lucky to have such a powerful partner who is able to keep them both afloat when Derek is incapacitated.

‘’Love you too,’’ he quietly rasps back, finally,  _ finally  _ finding his words. ‘’Thank you for always coming for me.’’

Stiles finds his mouth again, kissing him deeply. ‘’Always,’’ the man whispers. ‘’I’ll follow you to the ends of hell to get you back to me. Don’t ever think I won’t.’’

Regarding his partner for a moment, Derek caresses his cheek, tracing the lines of his jaw. Once upon a time, that would have been untrue. Stiles’ devotion to Scott had derailed him from doing anything that went against the young wolf, even if that sometimes meant doing the wrong thing, and doing wrong by Derek. But as fiercely as Stiles is loyal, he demands that from others around him without exceptions. Something Derek has never found hardship in, his ever patient beta wolf never able to go against the love of his life, the alpha of his heart. He might be an alpha by werewolf a rank, but he will always be equal to Stiles, his brave, courageous human spark.

‘’Even if choosing me will hurt someone you love?’’ Derek asks, searching his expression.

Stiles sees the question in his eyes before Derek has a chance to even voice the concern. ‘’Scott is. . . Complicated.’’

Derek nods. ‘’But if he departs. . . It’ll hurt you irrevocably.’’

‘’Maybe so,’’ Stiles shrugs uneasily, ‘’but I’ll always have you, and my dad, and our pack. I won’t be lonely. I’ll mourn our friendship, our brotherhood, but it does not mean I’ll drop everything to try and win his love back. I’ve chased my whole adolescent years for love that was never reciprocated, and I have forgiven and forgotten so many of his faults. He’s stupidly oblivious, and he wants to do the good thing by heart. But he is. . . ‘’ He huffs, frustrated. ‘’I don’t know how to explain it properly without making him sound like an asshole. He just. He hates being a werewolf. He likes the perks, sure, like not having asthma or having superior strength. He just. . . ‘’

‘’Doesn’t want the responsibility that comes with it,’’ Derek finishes for him, casting his eyes away. 

‘’Well, yeah, that too. But it’s not the whole reason. He resents it, because he wasn’t given a  _ choice _ . And I understand that, that he’s bitter about it, because autonomy over his own body was, and  _ is _ , important to him. As it should be, it’s important to you and me too. But he’s channeling the resentment into hatred towards  _ you _ . And that I won’t stand for.’’

Derek sighs, exhausted. ‘’He’ll come around,’’ he murmurs, pulling Stiles back close. 

‘’He won’t,’’ Stiles rebuffs bluntly, though he allows Derek to hide under his chin. ‘’He’s lived with that attitude for the past ten years. It’s not gonna change overnight, or even in the next ten years. Did you know he thought you were just dating me to get into his pack?  But if he continues to live in Beacon Hills, close to us, interacting with my dad and our pack, then. . . Then I’ll be damned if I ever let him hurt you like this again. You’re worth more than that.’’

Derek’s heart squeezes in his chest, the receding flush of his cheeks returning. He’s sad that Stiles will have to have either him or Scott, and not both, but he’s so ridiculously pleased that Stiles would choose him.  _ Does  _ choose him.

He’s never been anyone’s number one. He’s used to being the last choice, the emergency contact people call when all other available sources have been exhausted. All these years he’s been dreading the day Stiles would finally take his stand and step back to the place in Scott’s pack he used to occupy. The thoughts have been mean and unfair, daunting him. 

But having this? This quiet, determined devotion to Derek that Stiles has, has him reeling with emotions. Someone wants him.  _ Stiles  _ wants him. Wants him for as long as they are both alive, and perhaps even beyond grave.

‘’Marry me,’’ Derek says, clutching at Stiles desperately. He looks up to those wide, smart eyes with devotion of his own.

Stiles’ mouth parts, his lips glistening. ‘’I - We  _ are  _ married, you doofus,’’ the man says in confusion.

With a shake of his head, Derek reaches for Stiles’ hand, lacing their fingers. ‘’We’re mated. Bound to each other by our hearts and with your magic. Every supernatural creature that comes upon us will know without a question who we belong to. But I want to  _ marry  _ you, Stiles. I want to bear your ring like a mating bite, I want to register us as a family to the mundane. I want to share  _ everything  _ with you.’’

Stiles’ eyes soften, confusion melting into love and affection, amber eyes glowing with tears. ‘’Oh, baby,’’ Stiles murmurs softly, brushing a kiss against Derek’s mouth. ‘’Yes. Yes, I will marry you. _ Of course _ I will.’’

Derek kisses him back, reverent. His chest aches with happiness surging through it, lighting their bond up. Stiles grins, wide and joyful. Smiles so hard it stretches the edges of his mouth, the grin morphing into a laugh as he holds onto Derek.

Ducking his head, Derek presses his happy expression against the skin of Stiles’ neck. ‘’That’s the second time you’ve called me  _ baby  _ today,’’ he remarks quietly, curiously.

Stiles blushes, ruby red hue painting his skin with blotchy patches, from the highs of his cheeks, down to his chest. His partner groans, the act reverberating against Derek’s face. ‘’Oh my god, shut up,’’ Stiles mumbles feebly. ‘’I know pet names are not your forte, or your shtick because you’ve been ruined of them because of  _ her _ , but it just came out, okay? I call you big guy all the time, or boo if you’re being a sarcastic shit, and you call me  _ Stiles  _ in every variations of tone, and that’s fine, okay? But sometimes the other kind of nicknames just bubble up without my consent.’’

‘’Uh-huh,’’ Derek says, mildly dubious, refusing to let his skin crawl with the echo of sweet and saccharine voice calling him a  _ sweetheart  _ or a  _ puppy _ . But he can’t help being just a tiny bit amused because this is  _ Stiles _ . ‘’But  _ baby _ ?’’

There’s another humiliated groan. _ ‘’You’re  _ the one who almost died on me today. I’m allowed to these two slip ups, okay?’’ 

The mood sombers immediately. With a tired sigh, Derek nods. ‘’Yeah,’’ he agrees quietly.

Stiles starts rubbing soothing circles over Derek’s triskelion, his hand warm against his chilled skin. Re-establishing contact, the bond between them nearly humming with contentment of their closeness. ‘’Come on, big guy,’’ Stiles says, placing one last kiss onto Derek’s temple. ‘’Let’s move this to the bedroom. We’ve earned the soft bed privileges.’’

Derek moves with him, letting Stiles heave him up and leaning on him for support when his legs are rather weak and shaky. They make it to the mattress just in time, Derek collapsing onto the lush blankets with a sheen of cold sweat. Stiles tucks them both in, uncaring of the come that will undoubtedly get sticky and uncomfortable soon enough. The scent of them mixing will help Derek relax in his sleep, knowing for certain that his mate is close and in easy reach.

Their limbs tangle together, Derek allows Stiles to lace their fingers despite knowing it will wake them up with cramps in their hands. 

Derek slumps in exhaustion, the sweet lure of slumber lulling him slowly into unconsciousness. He feels Stiles carefully watching him as he starts to drift, and tastes the salty smell of his mate’s tears in his tongue. Gentle drip drops of Stiles’ sobs soak onto Derek’s skin, warming him and cooling him at the same time. With half-awareness, he drags the man impossibly closer, not wanting to stop Stiles from crying or shelter him from the grief, but letting him mourn the near-death of his, finally letting go of the strong walls he’d kept up the whole day. He shushes Stiles gently, pressing sleepy kisses onto his mate’s wet cheeks. Stiles clings, desperately, and as sleep drags him forcefully down, he murmurs sweet promises of affection, of his vow of undying love, nose filling with the fresh scent of Stiles’ grief and happiness, an affirmation that both of them are still here, alive and breathing.

That’s all they have to do for now. Just breathe. Just rest. Everything else will slot into place when it needs to, the future kind and patient for those who live in the present. The morning will come as bright and new and lovely, safe from all the monsters that hide in the long stretches of shadows, fed by the seedlings of doubt.

So Derek tightens his hold, not fighting against the fatigue anymore, and they both succumb to slumber, their heartbeats thudding as one.

They’ll be okay.

  
  
  
  


END.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
